neither here nor there
by faithsette
Summary: "Snapshots, moments, mere seconds: as fragile and beautiful and hopeless as a single butterfly, flapping on against a gathering wind." -Lauren Oliver. A collection of unrelated prompt fills.
1. lutz

**Note** : I realize that uploading a new story for every prompt fill can make things cluttered and become annoying, so this is where I'll be uploading all of the prompts that I fill/other unrelated one shots! I hope you enjoy them.

* * *

 **Lutz** : A toe-pick-assisted jump taken off from a back outside edge and landed on the back outside edge of the opposite foot

* * *

She's not sure what brought her here.

She's standing behind the boards, elbows propping herself up while she watches the other skaters fly by. The chill of the December air almost surprises her, but she just tugs the maroon sweater tighter, curls her arms into her chest for warmth until her body adjusts.

There's a decent amount of people crowding into the rink, all varying skill levels present. The somewhat smaller section - which is attached to a corner of the main rink - is emptier, and she makes a note to head over there at some point. It's been a while since she's laced up her old skates, a few months probably, but she hasn't had the time to spare. They're dangling next to her now, the bright neon laces draped across her forearm a contrast to the white skates that hang from them. She eyes the rink before bringing her gaze back down to her skates and then she's stepping back, taking a seat on the bench to put them on. She squeezes her feet in and pulls them over her leggings, smiling at the familiar tightness as she laces them up and wiggles her ankles just to make sure they're secure. The blade guards are removed before she stands up and she twists to throw them into her bag.

She steps onto the ice and starts off slow, just enjoying the slight breeze that hits her face as she glides. She has to weave in and out of people to avoid a collision, and she comes dangerously close to being taken out by a group of teenagers more than once. She brushes it off though, doesn't mind so long as she doesn't actually fall to the slippery surface below her.

Her leisurely pace gives her the opportunity to observe the other skaters. Some are obviously hockey kids; she can tell by one, the hockey skates on their feet, but also because of the way they move. She'd seen it when she was younger and at the rinks with her mother, remembers vividly how she'd pointed out the differing postures to her. Others look to just be out with their friends, all clinging onto each other as they try to avoid falling, laughter spilling from their mouths at every turn. There are more skilled skaters whipping around as well, and she watches on as some of them glide past the slower movers with such perfected ease, only to go into a toned down, loose version of a scratch spin.

And then there's him.

Ruffled brown hair - no doubt from the harsh breezes coupled with the lack of a hat on his head - and a nice dark brown coat, his face splitting into a grin visible even from her spot on the other side of the rink. It's gorgeous, that smile, and she has to stop herself from getting too close and becoming too obvious. He's skating with a young girl, probably ten or eleven, whose fiery red hair is blowing into her face with each gust of wind. His daughter, she assumes.

He's skating backwards easily - she laughs when he collides with an unsuspecting patron, but then smiles when he turns to apologize profusely - with his arms outstretched, and the girl is following him, slightly less steady on her feet than he is. She's getting it though, and soon enough the redhead is holding her own on the ice, maneuvering herself around the other skaters.

She does a few more laps, keeping a stealthy gaze on the man each time she passes; her excellent peripheral vision is definitely coming in handy. With every go around, she notices something different.

Like the hints of stubble forming around his jawline, giving him an extra rugged appearance. The sound of his laughter when his daughter challenges him to a race and he picks her up to stop her from winning. The small turn of his head when she whizzes by and the eye contact they make for a few brief seconds. The broadness of his shoulders, and how strong his arms seem to be - he could probably pick her up with relatively no problem, and the thought alone is enough to make her blush.

She takes herself to the other side and finally stops, braces herself on the boards. The sea of people block her from his vision - or so she thinks - but she can still see him through the open spaces between some of their heads.

A smile breaks onto her face as she watches him. He's pretty good on the skates, she has to admit, and somehow that makes him more attractive. He's circling around the girl, and then he grabs onto her hand and bends to whisper something into her ear before he takes off, dragging her behind him. It's adorable.

And then he looks up.

They've stopped to rest at the boards opposite hers, and he lifts his head, his line of sight taking him directly to... her.

She grins and averts her eyes, turns her head, and when she looks up again he's no longer standing there.

She lets out a breath. He's just a - very attractive - guy at this rink who she admires for his deft skating skills. And his jawline, and build, and beaming smile. But that's it.

That's what she tells herself even as she catches him staring at her at least three more times. His face softens when she returns his gaze, but then he's moving away, back to pretending they haven't been doing this for the past twenty minutes. He's definitely watching her as much as she's watching him. Nothing'll come of this - nothing but the adrenaline rush that makes her feel like a teenager again, having some handsome guy smile at her, but it's fun. She thinks it's become an unspoken game. They both skate around, do laps. They never once go up to the other, but when they see each other, they smile.

She still turns her head but not before she can see him chuckle to himself.

If he had a woman waiting for them back home, she likes to believe that there's no way he'd be... _flirting_? Is that what this is? Some weird version of ice skating foreplay? Whatever it is, it's a bit much for someone with a significant other, so she calms down and accepts her assertion that he's probably single.

She keeps moving, doesn't want to stay in the same spot anymore, and she doesn't see her mysterious male friend anywhere. She just shrugs, assumes he and the girl decided to call it quits and head home. A pang of sadness hits her, which is ridiculous because she doesn't know the man and they haven't even _talked_ , but then she pushes it back. Her feet drag her along as she skates between the people, shifting her weight from one blade to the other for prolonged periods of time. She closes her eyes briefly and enjoys the atmosphere of it all; the breeze, the weightlessness, the freeing feeling.

She's missed it.

When she opens her eyes she's towards the other edge of the rink. Her head spins around at the brush of someone's hand against her shoulder, but there's no one there when she turns. As she rights herself, she notices a distinct flash of brown cloud her vision, but she doesn't register the distance quick enough and she collides head on with a solid mass.

A pair of hands grab her around the waist, clutch at the edges of her sweater to keep her from falling to the ice. It all happens in a matter of seconds and she gasps at the shock, her eyes widening when she finally looks up to find the source of her crash.

It's him. All wind-blown brown hair and strong arms - that are still around her waist - and _wow_ his eyes are even more stunning up close.

"Sorry." A shy smile is on his face when he releases his grip. "I didn't think you'd actually run into my arms," he teases.

So he did it on purpose. He stopped their game.

He changed the rules.

She huffs, her lips pursed and eyes narrowed playfully. "I didn't _run_ into your arms," she corrects, her arms crossed over her chest. " _Someone_ decided to block my path."

"Well, as fun as watching you ogle me from a distance was," he starts, continues as she starts to protest. "I thought it'd be more fun to actually say hi."

She can feel the heat rising to her cheeks, but she doesn't let it show.

"If I'm recalling correctly - _and I am_ \- I wasn't the only one staring."

He shrugs, those bright blue eyes sparkling. "You make it hard not to. You're very attention grabbing."

She quirks an eyebrow. " _Attention grabbing?_ Like the introductory paragraph of a good essay? Seriously?"

He chokes on a reply, but laughs anyway, nodding. "Okay, not my best choice of words. You're very beautiful." She dips her head at the blunt response, lets her curls fall into her face. "I'm Rick."

"Kate," she nods, grinning as she takes his offered hand.

"And this is Alexis," he adds, lowering his hand to the top of the girls head and running it down her hair.

She looks down at the redhead, who returns her friendly smile. "You're pretty good out there, Alexis."

Alexis grins. "Thanks! I'm not as good as I want to be yet, but I'm getting there."

"What about me?" It's Rick this time, who's looking at her with a smirk on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes.

It's enough to do her in, to bring a flutter to her stomach because there's something about that smile and those eyes that suck her in.

"Eh, not too bad," she shrugs, keeps her voice completely even.

" _Not too bad?_ I'd like to see you do better," he quips, cocking his head with a laugh. The smug look on her face has his eyes widening. "Wait." His voice raises an octave and the excitement is impossible to miss. "You can do better, can't you."

It's not a question; she knows she's given it away by her reaction.

She just shrugs, but nods her head towards the smaller - it's smaller than the main rink, but it's not actually _small_ \- portion of ice that's off to their right.

"Why don't we find out?"

He nods happily, ushering Alexis in front of him as they follow her. She can hear the girl's squeals when he tickles her sides, and she turns to find him holding his arms up innocently. There aren't many people in this area, probably because the ice is rougher and there are more grooves to get stuck on. Only about six others are around them, and she's grateful for the emptiness.

She can't very well do this in the main rink; there's no room.

"What are you doing?" he asks, eyeing her as she circles around, gets a feel for the ice beneath her blades. "Because if this is you showing me up, the presentation could use some work."

She shoots him a mock glare. "Anyone ever tell you patience is a virtue? Now go stand against the boards, please." She nods behind them and extends her arm. "Don't want to bruise anything more than your ego."

He lets out a low _oooh_ and feigns hurt, brings a hand to his chest. "Ouch. You wound me."

She can't help but roll her eyes, and then she points at him again, an unspoken command to _stay put_ because she really doesn't need him getting in the way of her blades and getting hurt. Or worse, Alexis. He just nods though, and she can see the girl watching her curiously. Her father wears the same expression, two sets of eyes wondering what it is that she's about to do.

It's been a while since she's done this, longer than she'd like, but she figures this'll be a good test run to see if she's still got it.

She skates to the far end of the boards and does a few small laps to get herself ready. She starts then, taking one last breath before she glides backwards on the outside edge of her left blade. Her other leg goes back at the same time both of her arms spread open, her left one out straight and her right one stretching behind her to mimic the movement of that leg. With enough momentum picked up, she digs her right toe pick into the ice and vaults herself up into the air, her body rotating to the left as she spins. Her arms come together mid air, opening once again as she descends and lands on the outside edge of her right blade. It's a near perfect landing, and her arms spread once again as she lets herself slide out of the dismount and come slowly to a stop.

A relieved breath escapes her throat and she's grinning when she makes her way back over to the two with shocked expressions on their faces. She almost blushes at the pure amazement radiating from the man.

"That. Was. _Incredible_ ," he all but yells, his mouth opening and then closing again before his eyes come to hers. "Okay, I admit it, you absolutely win."

She lets out a laugh and lowers her head. "Thank you, thank you," she nods and pretends to bow.

"That was so cool! I wish I knew how to do that," Alexis chimes in, eyes wide and expressive. "You're so good."

"Thank you, Alexis," she smiles.

She's about to say something else when Rick cuts in. "Can you do that again?" he asks eagerly, his smile so wide she thinks it's about to crack his face in half. "Wait, no," he adds quickly. "Can you teach me how to do that?"

She snorts, covering her mouth immediately as she shoots him an apologetic gaze.

"How about we grab some burgers and then maybe I'll show you some more of my talents..." She drags the sentence out, watches his mouth drop open and his breath catch in his throat. "Alexis," she finishes off, clarifying with a playful glance towards him and then back to the girl. "Maybe I can show you some of the basics."

Alexis beams. "Really?" Kate nods. "Dad, can I please?"

He's still trying to regain his composure when he nods down at the girl, giving her a smile. "Of course, pumpkin. That's very nice of Kate to offer."

"Yes! Let's go get those burgers," the girl declares. She starts off before both adults, exuding excitement with every glide of her skates.

Rick falls behind and turns with narrowed eyes to Kate, whose smirk and barely suppressed laughter is all too telling.

"Oh, that was cruel."

* * *

 **Prompt** : "I was watching you ice skate with your little girl and I couldn't help but notice you were alone with her and I couldn't muster up the courage to come and talk to you until you made eye contact several times, forcing me to go" AU


	2. miscommunication

**Prompt** : 'we take the same elevator every day and due to a misunderstanding I assumed you didn't speak english and I've been talking to my friend about how hot you are for three weeks and apparently my friend has known from the start but you agreed not to tell me bc you both think its hilarious what the fuck' au

* * *

He's taken the elevator with her almost every day for the past week or so. Her apartment must be on one of the lower floors because it's most definitely not his—he'd have noticed her—and he's already thinking of ways to find out which one it is without blatantly asking her where she lives.

The first time he sees her walk onto the elevator he has to forcibly tear his eyes away from her and look elsewhere so he isn't staring, but _god_ is she stunning. Chestnut brown hair that falls just past her shoulders, usually in curls but there are occasions where she'll wear it straight and he loves those days. The curls are perfect, but there's something about the length that's added when she straightens it that does him in. He's only had a clear view of her eyes a handful of times, mostly when she gives him a friendly smile as she steps in, but they're just as beautiful as she is. Brown and green with flecks of gold that stand out when the harsh elevator lighting hits them, a wonderful mixture of hazel that has him wishing he could just look into them forever.

But he doesn't, because that'd be creepy.

She's tall and slender; not impossibly thin though, no—she's toned in all the right places, with long legs that seem endless in her four inch heels. He wonders what her job is, what requires her to look as she does, with her hair styled casually, dress pants, and a nice blouse beneath a blazer.

Probably a lawyer, if he had to guess.

He wants to ask, but he's turned up empty every time he's said something to her so far. She just opens her mouth and then closes it with a sigh, scrunching her nose up as she gestures to her face. It's still early and he doesn't quite understand so he just smiles as if he does, and he gets that same friendly smile in return. They stand in a companionable silence for the ride down, all the while he's conjuring up an entire backstory for her in his mind.

The first time he hears her speak, his eyes widen, mouth dropping open only slightly before he forces it back into its former position.

"Non posso venire con te," she sighs into her phone. Her voice is different than he's been imagining, but it's oh so nice. Not that he knows what she's saying, of course. "Perché devo lavorare, Gio. Va bene. Porgi i miei saluti a Lucia."

She hangs up and gives him a sheepish look, almost as an apology, but she must see the shock and the, admittedly, enamored look on his face, because she grins. He's about to tell her that it's okay, he didn't mind her phone call—it's not like he could've eavesdropped—but the elevator dings and the doors open before he can even open his mouth.

She's the first one out, but she looks over her shoulder at him as she strides away.

"Ciao," she smiles, accompanies the goodbye with a small wave of her fingers.

His feet haven't even caught up with his brain yet and he just stands there for a few seconds. The elevator doors begin to close and he scrambles out, yelping as they collide into his side, and he stumbles into the lobby praying that no one saw. He pretends to dust himself off but then he just lets out a breath, rakes his hands down his face.

That was _so hot_.

* * *

"Italian?"

He nods, popping a grape into his mouth. "I thought she was just ignoring me, but she doesn't speak English!"

Alexis looks at him curiously as she grabs a glass from the cabinet. "Are you sure your first assumption wasn't correct?"

"Ha ha, cute," he deadpans. "But no. I may not speak it, but I understood _ciao_. I know that much."

"And who is this again? The woman you've been talking about?"

He opens his mouth to respond but then closes it, a crease forming in his forehead. He doesn't know her name.

"I—" he starts slowly. "I don't know her name." Alexis laughs with a shake of her head. "But she's probably in her mid to late twenties. Brown hair, a few inches past her shoulders. Hazel eyes. Always dressed like an incredibly gorgeous, high profile lawyer?"

He watches Alexis think about it for a few seconds before her eyes widen slightly. Her face breaks out into a grin and she tries to suppress it by covering her mouth. She composes herself and nods, failing to fully hide her amusement and apparent realization.

"What? What is it?" he asks eagerly, elbows propped on the counter top.

She just shakes her head. "Nothing," she smiles. He expects her to elaborate because he knows it's not nothing, but she just opts for, "She sounds familiar."

"Alexis…"

She grabs a granola bar from the counter and rounds the island, placing a kiss onto his cheek. "Sorry dad, I have homework." Halfway up the stairs she turns and calls over her shoulder. "Good luck with your mystery Italian!"

He squints his eyes after her but then relents. He swivels on the stool, opens his phone to google translate. It's a last ditch alternative to actually learning an entire language in 24 hours, but he wants to be able to say something to the woman in the elevator. At the very least, he needs to know her name.

 _My name is Rick_ , he types, clicks on the little speaker so it'll pronounce it for him.

"Mi chiamo Rick," he repeats, a proud—and somewhat cocky—grin on his face.

* * *

"Buongiorno," he greets he when she enters the elevator, noticing immediately that her hair has returned to its usual style of loose curls.

She smiles and nods to him. "Ciao."

He keeps his face from beaming because really, he's only gotten one word out. But he takes her friendly reply as a good sign and continues. He takes a breath and tries to remind himself of the wording and the pronunciations.

"Mi chiamo Rick," he says, but he forgets how to ask her what her name is so he improvises, gestures to her with his hands. "Your name?"

Her laugh is adorable and she mimics him, gestures to herself with raised brows. "Kate."

He grins, but he's secretly kind of surprised. He would have expected something more… European. Even so, he thinks the name fits her.

"Uh," he drags out, desperately trying to remember the next thing he wanted to say. He really should have written it down and taken it with him. _Oh you'll remember it, Rick_. Right. "Pia—Piarc—Piacrare dicon—" he stumbles over the phrasing, knowing it starts with a p and sounds weird on his tongue but that's all he's got.

She's looking at him, amusement written all over her face as she tries to suppress her laughter. "Piacere di conoscerti," she offers, her voice trailing up at the end in question.

His eyes widen enthusiastically. "Yeah! No—I mean, si!"

That's all they say before the elevator opens at the lobby, but she repeats her earlier gesture and gives him a small wave, this time calling, "Ciao, _Rick_."

His name on her lips is something he's determined to hear again.

* * *

As the weeks pass, he manages to speak to her some more.

They're all simple things and there's so much more he wants to know, but he doesn't know how to ask and those phrases are all far beyond the level of skill his makeshift at-home lessons bestow upon him. He does manage to find out that she is indeed in her mid twenties—twenty six—and that she's addicted to coffee. He has to translate exactly what she says and she doesn't actually tell him that last part, but he's noticed.

She's always carrying one with her, hasn't seen her hand without a coffee once thus far.

He ropes Alexis into helping him one night when she's sitting at the island, eyes scanning through an Agatha Christie book even though he knows she's read it twice already. That's mostly why he doesn't feel bad about interrupting her.

"What, dad," she says, doesn't even look up at him.

He leans next to her. "Care to help out your favorite father?"

She closes the book in front of her and turns, brows quirked. "Sure, where is he?"

His mouth drops open as he gapes at her, eyes narrowing at her laugh. "Oh, so not funny," he drawls. "Come on, help me with this."

She sighs but agrees anyway, a smirk appearing on her face the second she notices what she's helping him with. " _Italian For Dummies?_ " she asks, amusement laced in her voice. "Seriously, dad."

"Yes, now ask me these in English and I'll give you the Italian."

She does, and he repeats them. He notices her laughter, the shaking of her head, but he just shrugs it off and continues on.

His Italian is just above horrible, but he's nothing if not willing to try.

* * *

It's a week later when it happens.

He doesn't see her in the elevator at their usual time and he frowns, immediately wondering where she is. He still has no idea what she does for a living—he's asked but she just shrugged, grinned and told him something that he didn't understand in return—and her absence has his curiosity peaked.

He spends more time during the day wondering about why she wasn't in the elevator this morning than he's willing to admit. It's ridiculous; there are a million different reasons why she wouldn't be there, and none of them are any of his business. That doesn't stop him from coming up with his own explanations, though.

A few hours later he's back in the lobby after running a few errands, and he sees her. She's standing by the elevator, bag slung over her shoulder and a coffee in hand as usual, but instead of her usual dressy business attire she's in jeans and a loose white sweater, flats on her feet.

He makes his way towards her with a smile, takes in the height difference now that she doesn't have the added assist of heels.

"Ciao," he greets warmly.

She turns to him and grins just as the doors open. "Hi, Rick."

He almost doesn't register that she's just said _hi_ instead of their usual ciao or buongiorno—though he supposes buonasera is more appropriate considering the time—but then his legs are carrying him into the elevator after her.

"Hi?" he repeats, mouth opened slightly.

She just laughs. "You can close your mouth," she says, and he does finally. "How are you?"

He blinks. "I'm—I'm good? And you—you speak English."

He gets a nod from her and a shy smile. "I do speak English. Fairly well if I do say so myself."

"No." He shakes his head. He looks around for a second before hitting the button to stop the elevator, leaving them halted in between floors. She looks at him with raised brows but he continues. "I mean yes, you do! But you're—you're _Italian_!"

Another nod, and she bites at her bottom lip to keep the corners of her lips from quirking up. "Well, yes, I do have some Italian heritage but—"

"How?" is all he says, his voice a mixture of pure confusion and nothing short of fascination.

She's Italian… but she's _not_ Italian. There's no accent. She speaks English, but he's been speaking to her for the past few weeks in definitely _not_ English—and probably not even passable Italian on his part.

She lets out a wide grin, can't keep it in anymore. "I'm sorry," she breathes between the laughter, looks down at the floor before bringing her eyes back to his.

He thinks she's even more beautiful now, with her tongue peeking between her teeth and her hair falling into her face.

But that aside, he's still astounded at this revelation.

"Alexis told me that you—"

"Alexis," he almost screeches, effectively cutting her off. "As in Alexis Castle. Red hair… my _daughter_ Alexis."

"One in the same," she tells him, giving him a playfully pointed look with no real weight. "Alexis told me that you were telling her about a _hot_ woman that you see in the elevator every day." He almost turns away at that, but he just gives a small smile. "And then she realized it was me when you described her—me—to her. _But_ she also mentioned that you thought I didn't speak English."

"So you just… _played it off_?" he asks but then holds up a hand. "Wait, don't answer that yet." He presses to start the elevator again and it brings them to his floor.

"What are you—"

He grabs her hand gently and tugs her down the hall with him, holding onto her even as he opens the door to the loft and ushers her in. "Make yourself at home," he gestures to the island, but she just stays put. "Alexis!"

The girl in question comes bounding down the stairs, the question on her lips fading away as soon as she sees the woman standing in their foyer.

"Hi, Kate," she grins, ignoring her father's look of pure shock. "Hi, dad."

"Hi, Alexis," Kate returns, her expression such a mirror image of Alexis' that he can't handle it.

They were in on it together. His own flesh and blood conspired against him.

"You know each other," he says, shaking his head when the girls nod. He turns to Alexis. "You knew as soon as I told you that it was her, didn't you?"

She grins and shrugs. "It's highly possible."

"And you told her," he realizes.

He can't believe it. There's also an odd sense of pride—he's taught her well. He'll get her back, of course, but he has to give her credit.

There is still one thing that doesn't make sense to him, though.

"Hold on," he says, eyes on Kate. "The first week you didn't even talk to me. And then the first time I heard you speak it was in Italian and I—how? Why?"

She's laughing, her arms wrapped around the bag at her front. "I had laryngitis. Couldn't talk, which I thought you gathered. And I didn't _know_ that was the first time you'd heard me say anything until I talked to Alexis and found out you thought I only spoke Italian."

Oh. Laryngitis.

Her seemingly odd gestures to her mouth that day make much more sense now than it did then at 7am.

"And the Italian?"

"I was talking to my cousin, Gio. I was supposed to go with him to see our friend before they went back to Italy but I had to cancel because of work. He doesn't speak much English," she explains easily. "And then Alexis told me I should keep it up to see what you'd do or if you'd notice." He huffs playfully and she just smiles, brings a hand to his shoulder. "It was hilarious, Rick. And the deal was that if you hadn't figured it out by today, I come clean."

"On a scale of one to ten, how bad was my Italian?"

She wrinkles her nose and scrunches her face up in thought. "Probably a seven." He winces. _Ah._ That's about what he thought. "But the effort was very sweet."

"I still can't believe you did this," he motions towards Alexis, who's now off of the stairs and standing next to them.

She shrugs. "When opportunity knocks…"

"Quando l'opportunità bussa," Kate repeats, getting a low growl from Rick.

"Now that you're bilingual it makes it even hotter," he breathes, waggling his eyebrows.

Kate dips her head with a laugh and Alexis makes a face of disgust. "Dad, ew."

He shrugs. "You're the one that did this, pumpkin," he reminds. He laughs as she shivers and mumbles her way back up the stairs, tossing a farewell to Kate when she's midway up.

Kate's still standing in the entryway and it's as if he's just noticed because he motions to the kitchen. "Do you want a drink?"

She shakes her head. "Can't, I have work early tomorrow," she says apologetically. "I really should get going."

He nods. "Hey, you never did tell me what you do."

She hums. "No, I didn't."

"Are you going to?"

Her head tilts to the side, as if contemplating her options. "I'm not sure you could handle it."

His eyes widen. "Oh, I could handle it," he challenges.

"Homicide Detective," is all she says, and he's almost certain his face has fallen off completely. He can't even begin to suppress the grin that's splitting his cheeks.

"That—that is so—" he stars, excitement pouring over until he stops, composes himself and shrugs nonchalantly. "That's very interesting," he gives her as he clears his throat.

He knows she didn't buy it and a part of him doesn't even care because he _can't_ handle it— _homicide detective_. That's even cooler than his original guess of a lawyer.

"Maybe I can take you out for dinner sometime? You know, get to know each other in the same language this time," he suggests with a chuckle, a twinkle in his eyes as he looks back at her.

She considers him with a closed mouth smile. "I think we can arrange that."

"Can you speak some more Italian too?" he asks hopefully, his voice lingering somewhere between a growl and a plea. "I meant it when I said it was _hot_."

She rolls her eyes with a laugh, giving him one last wave of her fingers as she opens his door.

"Ciao, Rick," she winks, accentuating the "r" and making his heart beat just a little bit faster.


	3. with child

**Prompt** : You asked me to the store with you and your child, and now my distant relative we met thinks I'm married with a baby

* * *

She's hovering in the section with the baby clothes, fingers trailing along the embroidered details of some of the more intricate outfits. It's amazing to her how high end many of these look, as if they'd originally been designed for grown women and were just shrunk down in size to fit babies.

Baby blazers, baby sun dresses, baby suits, even baby leather jackets—it's incredible, if not a bit ridiculous.

Still, the clothes are all so precious and tiny that she can't help but smile as she goes through them. The differing array of baby booties on a far shelf are probably what get her the most, the image of them on little feet just too much. She laughs at the onesies decorated with little dinosaurs and then at others, practically bathed in an abundance of bright pink glitter.

She glances around, wondering how much longer Castle's going to be. He asked her to come with him to the store, said he didn't want to go by himself with the baby. That was his excuse, anyway, but she's pretty sure he just wanted her to keep him company. Now he's off in one of the other isles, looking for some kind of formula he said Alexis seemed to like the most. Or, as he put it, "the one she disliked the least." She offered to come help him look, considering it'd get done twice as fast with an extra pair of eyes, but he shook his head. He said he'd only be a minute—that minute has been up for at least ten minutes now—and told her to look through the clothes to see if there was anything nice.

She rolls her eyes as she does just that. She may not be the biggest baby person, but she's not above admitting that all of their clothes are adorable.

And so here she is, perusing the racks of baby clothes that she has absolutely no use for as she waits for him to come back.

"Kate?" She hears her name, but it isn't Castle. "Kate!"

She spins, brows furrowed in confusion until she lands on—

"Dan—Danielle?" Her mouth is open, eyes wide as she stares at the brunette that's now grinning at her.

Danielle strides up and swiftly wraps her arms around her, almost knocking her off balance before she steadies herself. "It is you!" she exclaims, both happiness and surprise laced within her voice.

"What are you doing here?" Kate smiles when she's released. She hasn't seen her cousin in years, at best, and yet here she is. Standing in front of her. In Target. Seriously, why is she here?

"Graduation road trip," she explains. "Upstate is the first stop, but I had to come get a few things for the ride. I didn't know you still live here!"

She nods. "Yeah, I still—"

"Beckett, you won't _believe_ how many different formulas there—" Castle returns, inadvertently cutting her off as he rushes over, but he stops when he looks up and notices that she's not alone. "Oh, hi."

Kate looks from Castle to Danielle, who is now regarding him very curiously. "Who's this?"

"Danielle, this is Castle," she says, gesturing with her hands. "And Castle, this is my cousin Danielle."

Danielle's eyes fall to Alexis, who's secured safely against Castle's chest, head covered by a pink hat that conceals the tiny wisps of red hair. She turns at the sound of their voices, blue eyes blinking up at the both of them.

"And this is Alexis," Castle offers, smiling down at the baby.

Beckett nods, shifting on her feet, already anxious to get out of there. She's happy to see her cousin, she really is, but it's definitely a surprise. It's been so long and this awkward staring-but-not-saying-anything is not exactly what she wants to be doing.

"Kate," Danielle breathes as her eyes shoot open, her hand coming up to her chest. "I had no idea."

Her brows scrunch together. "What?"

"She's got your eyes," her cousin says to Castle, glancing from the baby's up to his. "She's precious."

"Yeah, she is," he agrees proudly.

Danielle brings her gaze back to Kate, giving her a not so subtle once over. "Wow, you look _really_ good, Kate."

She opens her mouth. "I—Thank you?"

It takes a few seconds of Danielle eyeing the three of them, a wide grin on her face, eyes twinkling, for Kate to put the pieces together.

Does she think—she doesn't—

Oh, she does.

"Wait, Danielle," she starts then, turning too quickly, body twisting between facing the brunette and Castle. She gestures to him and Alexis. "I'm—"

Danielle shakes her head, an understanding expression gracing her features. "I get it, Kate. It's okay." Kate lets out a breath and gives her a tight, relieved smile. "It's been so long, I totally get why you didn't say anything."

She starts nodding even before she's caught up to what's been said. "Yeah—Wait, no. What? I'm not—" Her eyes snap to Castle, giving him a pointed _you can jump in at any time_ look, but he doesn't seem to be reacting all that much—though she can see that he's trying his hardest to stifle his laughter.

He's not helping.

She takes a deep breath, ready to just set her cousin straight, tell her that she's got it all wrong, but Danielle's phone rings before she can get a word out. She gives her an apologetic look and answers, taking a step back.

Kate purses her lips, squints her eyes at Castle when he lets out a chuckle. "This isn't funny, Castle," she glares, but it's half-hearted at best.

She starts toying with the chain around her neck, the noise causing Alexis to bring her eyes up, her tiny hands stretching out towards the source of the jingling. Kate smiles and gently grabs Alexis' fingers, slowly guiding them away from the necklace. Danielle starts walking over then, a grin on her face when she notices the interaction, and Kate just closes her eyes.

The timing on this one, seriously.

"Hey, listen, I—" Danielle shakes her head, cutting her off once more.

"I have to go, I'm so sorry," she sighs, phone still clutched to her left ear. "Road trip calls. It was _so_ nice seeing you!" She brings an arm around Kate and squeezes tightly. "And this little one," she adds, dusting a finger over the baby's fist.

Kate blinks. "Danielle," she says, but she isn't listening, too preoccupied staring at Alexis. " _Danielle_!"

"She's really adorable, Kate," she comments, completely ignoring her blatant attempts to get her attention, and there's a smile on her face as she starts walking away. "Call me!"

"Dani—Danielle—she's _not_ —"

It's no use.

Danielle's already too far away to hear her hushed yell—not that she would've listened either way—and she's too busy with her phone call. She can hear her stage whisper to whoever it is, much louder than she probably intended, "you'll _never_ believe what I just found out!"

Kate groans, letting her eyes fall closed before she turns back to Castle. He looks far too giddy for her liking, his teeth biting into his bottom lip to keep himself from laughing. His eyes are sparkling, squinted in an attempt to aid in his efforts.

"Don't," she warns, though there's no bite.

"I would never—" he starts, stops when she just narrows her eyes. He pauses for a few seconds, and he looks like he's about to explode. "So… do you wanna hold your daughter?" he gets out, the end of the question cracking when he can't hold back his laughter anymore.

She gives him a light smack on the arm, pulls her lips into a tight line. " _Castle_ ," she hisses.

"I'm sorry," he grins, bouncing Alexis as he stands. His eyes sweep over her playfully. "You look _really_ good, Kate." Now he's just mimicking what Danielle said, and she sighs.

She rolls her eyes but can't suppress a small smile, the corner of her lips tugging up as she shakes her head.

This is not what she thought was going to happen on this trip to Target, she can say that much.

"She's telling my entire family that I'm married right now," she deadpans, knowing it's all too true. Danielle was never tight lipped as a child, or a teenager, and she expects nothing less of her as an adult. "I haven't seen most of them in _years_ , and now they're going to think I'm married and a mother."

Castle's finally calmed down, and he places a hand on her forearm. "Come on, Beckett. I'm sure none of them will actually believe her."

She shrugs. "Maybe," she admits. There is a possibility—

Her phone rings, a number dancing across the screen that she hasn't seen in a while. "Hello?" she answers, immediately turning to Castle with a straight face, eyes narrowed. "No, Aunt Terri, I did not have a baby."

Castle's howling next to her, his hand immediately jumping up to silence himself. He mouths a _sorry_ to her, though his expression is a stark contrast to that sentiment. He's definitely not sorry; she knows he's enjoying this.

By the time she hangs up, finally having managed to convince her distant aunt that she didn't get married, pregnant, and have a baby without informing her, Castle's wandered a few feet away to look at some of the clothes.

"You were saying," she deadpans as she walks over to him, the tiniest hint of amusement in her voice.

"So I might have been wrong," he accepts, shrugging. "You have to admit, it's pretty funny."

She rolls her eyes. It is kind of funny, but she won't let him know she thinks so.

"Hey, at least now there won't be a dull moment at your family reunions," he adds cheerily.

She snorts, quirking a brow. "You mean when I show up without a husband or a child and they realize I'm still single? Oh yeah, they'll get a kick out of that. They'll probably just assume my _husband_ left and took the baby with him."

He laughs and returns back to the clothes. "Come on, Beckett, I'd never do that," he teases. She just chews on her bottom lip, gives him a less than pleasant glare. "Now," he announces, "do me a favor and pretend you _are_ picking out an outfit for your own child and help me find something cute."

She ignores his comments and just shakes her head, fingers skimming across yet another row of baby clothes. She notices one towards the back, a little legging and ruffled top outfit, and goes to grab it. He does the same, and their hands brush as they pull it off of the rack.

"Would you look at that, it's almost as if—"

"Don't say another word," she says, rolling her eyes.

She knows he's looking at her but she just dips her head, letting her hair fall into her face to hide the small grin playing on her lips.


	4. 2:16am

**Prompt:** "Why exactly do you need chloroform at 2am?" Set late season one/early season two.

* * *

She's nestled beneath her covers, legs curled into her body for warmth to fight against the frigid cold that's taken over Manhattan. It's February and the world outside shows no signs of letting up, instead coating the landscape in a fluffy blanket of white. Sleep comes easily for her, the pure exhaustion of the past week finally taking its toll on her body, and she's brought into a land of dreams and blissful weightlessness.

That's all ripped away when she hears knocking, an incessant banging coming from the hallway.

She doesn't even bother opening her eyes, just burrows deeper under her comforter as she shifts. It's not her apartment. It cannot possibly be someone knocking on her door right now because she refuses to allow it.

No, it's someone for her neighbor and hopefully they'll answer their door before their visitor gets too impatient. Or before she gets too impatient and shoots them. Both of which are very plausible, and possible, outcomes.

But it doesn't stop—she swears it's getting _louder_ —and she peeks one eye open, groaning when she reads the time on the clock, big block letters mocking her. 2:16am.

She could ignore it, but considering it's been at least ten minutes and the knocking is still going full force, she doesn't think it's liable to stop. Fatigue washes over her as she tears off the blankets, the bitter air knocking into her and sending shivers down her spine. The hardwood is freezing under her bare feet, but she pads through the living room anyway, pulling her sweater closer to her body as she moves.

The door swings open and she's met with a fist mid-knock, almost taking her out before its owner realizes the door is open.

Alright, _who_ is—

" _Castle?_ " she gets out, sleep evident in her voice.

A beaming smile is his response and he is _far_ too awake right now. Does he know what time it is? Because surely he wouldn't look so happy if he did.

"Beckett," he greets, swiftly moving past her before she has a chance to reply. "Good, you're awake."

"I _wasn't_ ," she mumbles, but closes the door behind him and then turns, watching as he peruses her living room. "What are you doing here?"

He stops his assault on her bookshelf and swivels on his heels, striding back over to her. "I've had a breakthrough."

"Are you sure you haven't had a break _down_?"

He waves a hand dismissively. "Ha ha," he jokes, but his energy is still sky high and it's exhausting just standing next to him. "No, definitely a breakthrough. I was thinking about the next Nikki Heat and I thought, hey, wouldn't it be awesome if she had a signature way to break suspects? So—"

"A signature? Castle, that's the murderer. The _murderers_ have signatures." She rolls her eyes, one hand rubbing at them as she walks past him, ignoring his rant that's _still going_ , and grabs a mug from her cabinet. Something tells her that he's not going until he's done and she's definitely going to need caffeine.

"Semantics," he says, and she doesn't even try and argue with him because it's late and all she can think about is her bed. "Anyway, I came up with the perfect thing. But it needs to be tested."

"Tested?" she muses, humoring him as she fills the cup. She pours him one too and he takes it gratefully. "This still doesn't explain why you're _here_. In my kitchen. In the middle of the night."

"Come on, Beckett, get dressed."

Get what now?

She blinks. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I mean, or you could go in that, but I don't know if the city is ready for your nightie." He smirks and she looks down, pulling at her sweater to cover more of her legs.

She groans, wishing she had her gun on her so she could just shoot him and go back to sleep. But then there'd be paperwork and a body and she doesn't want to deal with that either. She can't sleep if she shoots him.

But if she doesn't shoot him, she'll never sleep. It's a conundrum.

"Go _where_?"

He huffs. "Where's your sense of adventure, Beckett?"

"Probably still asleep, in my bed, where I should be," she deadpans, putting a hand lazily on her hip.

He walks past her then, a too lively bounce in his step as he strides through her living room and—

"Where are you going?" she asks hastily, tired legs pulling her to follow him. " _Castle_."

He doesn't even stop, just turns to call over his shoulder. "I'm getting you clothes, detective. You can't very well go outside in that," he says easily, nodding to her attire. She glares, looking down at the pajama shorts and loose sweater that she fell asleep in. "It's cold, you'll freeze."

She picks up the pace, shimmying herself between his body and the doorway before he has a chance to get in her room. "You are _not_ going through my clothes."

"Okay, then I'll wait out here," he agrees, turning on his heel and heading back towards her couch.

She screws her eyes shut and takes a deep breath to calm herself. Her gun is much closer to her now, only a few feet away. She could very easily grab it. Paperwork isn't sounding all that bad right about now.

Her head is thrown back and it takes all of her will power to avoid letting out a low, irritated growl.

"I don't _need_ any clothes, Castle."

He grins at her and she wants to slap it away. "Going in the buff during a New York winter? Very brave of you, Beckett. I never pictured you as the exhibitionist type."

She does growl then. "I don't need clothes because I am not going anywhere. I'm going back to bed."

"Come on," he whines, jumping off of her couch and coming up to her. Very close. She can feel his breath on her cheeks and she has to take a step back. "Please, Beckett? Do it for the research. You wouldn't want Nikki to do something that isn't proven accurate, would you?"

She lets out a breath, leaning against the door frame, a hand coming up to rub at her eyes once more. "And this couldn't wait until tomorrow because?"

"Well, technically it is—" His correction dies on his lips when she narrows her eyes. "Okay, got it. I couldn't risk losing the inspiration. You know what they say, when inspiration strikes..."

"Inspiration might strike you sooner than you think," she mutters under her breath.

He raises his brows. "I come with you when a body drops early in the morning and _I'm_ asleep," he says, in what she assumes is his attempt to reason with her.

She cocks her head. "You do realize that's on you, right? _You're_ the one who decided to follow me around."

"That's not important." He waves a hand around. "The night is still young, as are we, so let's make the most of it. Indulge me."

Her eyes flutter closed, her fingers rubbing at her temples. All she wants to do is kick him out, return to her bed and curl into the covers, but she knows him. If she hasn't managed to dissolve his incessant tactics up until this point, she knows there's a slim chance she will. She knows he won't go away unless she actually makes a not-so-veiled threat to shoot him.

"I need my coffee," she sighs, pushing past him to return to the kitchen.

He trails behind her. "Is that a yes? Beckett?" He's too close again, his whispered breath hitting hot against her neck. "Beckett—"

She spins. " _Castle_ ," she hisses, watching as he slowly takes a step back. "Don't make me change my mind."

He goes to speak but thinks better of it, instead putting another wide grin on his face.

"This is gonna be _so fun_ ," he beams, psyching himself up in the corner.

He's practically bouncing in place, his energy level reaching a new high she wasn't even aware was humanly possible, and she can't tell if he's really that excited about this or if he just hasn't slept in hours and is running on pure adrenaline.

She's going to need a lot more coffee.

* * *

"Tell me where we're going."

"It's a surprise," he whines, turning to look at her.

She shakes her head, grabbing his arm to still him. "I don't like surprises, and I like them even less at—" She glances down at her watch. "Almost three in the morning."

He sighs. " _Fine_ ," he drawls, but there's still a sparkle to his eyes. "We're going to experiment. But we need to make a pit stop first to get something."

She just stares at him. "That tells me nothing."

"We're almost there, I called beforehand."

"What is it that we're getting?" she asks again, a hand on her hip.

Her patience is wearing thin and the caffeine is wearing off.

He grins. "Chloroform."

She blinks. She couldn't have heard him correctly. " _Chloroform_?" He nods, excitement bubbling over. "And why exactly do you need chloroform at 2am?"

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue. "For the experiment, dear Beckett. I thought you were with me here."

"Okay, better question," she says instead, bringing her narrowed eyes to his. " _Where_ are you getting chloroform at 2am?"

"I know a guy," he says, shrugging with a dismissive wave of his hand.

She sighs at his answer. Of course he knows a guy, why wouldn't he. She goes to say something but he's already started walking again, so she just follows him, her boots crunching in the snow, the thick sheets of ice sliding beneath the bottoms. The air is frigid and she has to curl her arms tighter against her chest for warmth, the sweater and jacket doing next to nothing to stop the chill in her bones.

But it doesn't even seem to faze Castle. No, she's watching him, just bouncing along, humming quietly to himself.

She's still not entirely convinced he's not having a breakdown.

* * *

"Thanks, Vin," he says to the older gentleman on the other side of the door.

She's standing back, leaning against a pole, arms crossed over her chest as she chews on her nails. The sky is still dark, no signs of the sunrise that will come in a few hours. The chill of the air is keeping her on her toes, keeping her awake despite the new oncoming bout of fatigue she can feel blanketing her.

Castle's been talking for a few minutes now, alternating between pointing back at her and nodding in what looks like acceptance to the man.

"About time," she sighs once he walks over. "Did you get your _chloroform_?"

Her voice is mocking but he just grins with a nod. "Yes, yes I did," he confirms, lifting the bag in his hands up so she can see it.

"Great," she deadpans. "Now can I go home?"

He looks almost offended, as if that was the most ridiculous thing she could've said. "What? No! We're not done, Beckett," he says, shaking his head.

"I still don't understand why you need me here for this."

"You're my muse—" he starts, but amends his statement when she steps towards him. "I mean you're my _inspiration_." She rolls her eyes. "And I need your help."

She gives him a once over. There's something... _off_ about him now. His body's still thrumming, still far too energetic for this time of night—morning?—but there's something else. He looks almost guilty, the tiniest hint of hope sparkling in his eyes. She can barely see it, what with there being no lighting aside from the dim street lamp, but it's there.

"Castle..."

"We need to test out the experiment," he says easily, giving her a shrug as he starts walking again.

She jumps in front of him, putting a hand on his chest to stop him. "Not so easy, Castle," she says. "What is this experiment? I've had enough surprises."

"I need Nikki to chloroform someone who gets in her way—for the greater good, of course," he adds at her quirked eyebrows. "I don't have all of the details worked out, but starting with an effective method of disarming a subject using chloroform seemed like a good place to start."

He says it as if that's normal, as if dragging her out of her bed at 2 in the morning to buy chloroform is a casual thing that happens every day.

"This has _what_ to do with me, exactly?" she asks, one brow still raised as she looks at him. He's silent and it's making her uneasy. "Castle." He gives her a small grin, his eyes squinted.

He's not...

"Who do you plan on testing on, Castle?" she demands, taking a few sharp, intimidating steps towards him.

He couldn't possibly.

"Well, I mean—"

He _does_.

She growls. " _Castle_."

"Come on, Beckett," he whines, backing away from her advancing stride.

"You are _not_ using your chloroform on me!"

She can't believe this. He's insane. In absolutely no universe would she let him use her as some guinea pig.

Absolutely not.

He's lost his damn mind, and she could be sleeping.

"Why not?" he asks, and he actually sounds serious. Did he hit his head? Is this a concussion talking?

She scoffs, poking him in the chest. She holds in her grin when he rubs at the abused area. "Why not? _Why not?_ " She laughs. "You honestly thought I would let you use me as your test subject?" He nods, slow and hesitant. "No."

"But you're the perfect one to do it!"

She crosses her arms. "Please, enlighten me with your logic."

"You're a cop. If something goes wrong, I can't get in trouble because you let me do it and you're the police!"

"That is... the _dumbest_ thing I think you've ever said to me." One of the arms crossed over her chest comes up, rubs at her face. "I wish I had my gun."

"You don't want to deal with the paperwork," he says immediately, waving her off. "Come on, you don't want Nikki to do something that's inaccurate. That'd be on you, because she's based off of you and you don't want the general public to think you don't do things accurately, do you?"

She wants to throttle him. Using inaccuracy against her isn't fair, but more importantly, it isn't going to work.

"I do believe that'd be on you, the writer. Not me."

He opens his mouth to respond but then closes it, an air of defeat surrounding him. She grins, knowing she's gotten him there. Seriously, any discrepancies fall directing into the hands of the writer, not the muse.

She's looking at him, eyes narrowed as he pouts sadly. "Castle, I'm not going to risk liver damage so you can test a theory you haven't even thought out."

"Liver damage only occurs if you've inhaled too much! I wouldn't do that to you." He pauses. "I'd take good care of you while you were passed out!"

She closes her eyes tightly, breathing out through her nose.

He said it was a breakthrough but now she's thoroughly convinced it is, in fact, a breakdown.

* * *

3:56am.

It's practically four in the morning and she's sitting on her couch, head in her hands, eyes falling closed as she listens to Castle babble on and on to himself—if he is talking to her she's not been paying attention—about the finer details of this part in Nikki Heat.

"They wake up after a few minutes," he goes on, springing into the living room to stand in front of her. "See, Beckett, it'd only be—"

"I'm still not going to be your guinea pig, Castle."

He frowns. " _Fine_. Take away the element of adventure," he sighs. "Where would I have to go find a volunteer?"

She snorts. "I'm sure one of your crazy fans would throw themselves at you. _Oh my god Richard Castle used chloroform on me for research_ ," she mimics, her voice taking on a higher register. "They'd frame the cloth, probably."

"Not all of my fans are crazy, Beckett." He grins, and she knows she walked right into this one. "You're perfectly normal."

She groans, digging the heel of her palms into her eyes. "Not that this middle of the night escapade wasn't _thrilling_ , but I'd like to go back to sleep now."

He nods then, and for a second she thinks he's finally given up. He looks thoughtful, like he's finally come down from his sleep-deprived, adrenaline run high.

About damn time.

"I will go," he agrees, and she begins to stand, ready to show him to the door. "After I show you the mechanics of this."

She blinks. "I'm sorry?"

" _Well_ ," he explains, a smile on his face. _Why_ isn't he exhausted yet? "Since you aren't willing to be my subject—" She rolls her eyes. "I will show you on myself how it'd work. And you can tell me if it seems plausible."

"And just how are you doing this?"

He gestures to her counter, where there's a giant bottle of chloroform surrounded by a pile of dish cloths. When did they get there?

"I did some research and I managed to put a small enough amount onto one of the cloths so that it would still render someone unconscious but it wouldn't do any real damage. They wouldn't inhale too much. No fatalities here."

"Castle—"

He shakes his head. "Don't worry, that was just for practice."

"When did you do this?" she asks, curious as to how she had no idea he was dousing rags with chloroform in her kitchen.

He shrugs. "You took a short nap."

She did? She doesn't remember falling asleep, only listening to him talk and closing her eyes to tune him out.

Huh.

The entire section of her kitchen has a strong smell now, that smell being the substance that Castle's brought into her apartment in the middle of the night. She has no idea how he's been able to stand it—it's pungent and disgusting.

He grabs one of the rags. "Okay, so Nikki will take the cloth and go behind her subject, and she'll hold it over their mouth and nose, like so—" She's leaning on the arm of a chair, watching him.

She knows something's wrong when his eyes go wide and he seems to realize it too, because he panics and goes to take a breath. Bad, bad idea. She can see his eyes flutter, and then his hand falls from his mouth.

She makes it to him just in time to guide him to the chair before he hits the floor.

* * *

He wakes up minutes later, eyes squinted and bleary.

"Beckett?"

She rolls her eyes. "Welcome back, Castle," she says, handing him a full glass of water.

He grimaces. "I might have grabbed the wrong cloth."

"Hmm, you think?" she laughs, shaking her head. "How didn't you notice?"

He scrunches his face up. "The cloths were wet to begin with and your entire kitchen smells. I didn't realize it was the one I soaked."

She watches as he takes a sip of the water and has to hold back a snort at the scene in front of her. She gives him a minute before she speaks up again.

"Now, what have we learned here?"

She's grinning and he sighs, muttering his answer in a sad, quiet voice.

"That we don't test the chloroform."


End file.
